Cherry Blossoms
by toujourspret
Summary: Slight Shonen-ai--After X, Subaru reflects on what he has left, and he deals with (or doesn't) the deaths of those dearest to him


Cherry Blossoms

He could feel the cold stone gravel crunching under his feet. The small picnic basket was rough in his hand. It was old, and tattered. Inside it was a small meal, mostly cookies and tea, and lemonade and sandwiches for later.

He wasn't hungry. Not really. In fact, the thought of the food he was carrying made his stomach lurch. The surroundings didn't help his appetite. He half wondered if the basket was only for show; no one would eat anything today, as always.

Hokuto would be angry if she knew. He'd never eaten much, but now…it was a wonder he still lived. Some nights, in a fit of morbidity, he would count his sallowed ribs beneath his shirt--without taking it off. Sometimes, terrified of starving, he would rush to the kitchen and binge. Heavy, thick foods like ice cream and cheese and anything that might put any weight on him. And then, disgusted with this irrational fear and sick with too much food, he purged. Other times he simply lay there, accepted and welcomed death. Both scenarios left him sprawled on his bed in this dusty old apartment, looking up at the light as it shone through impossibly thin hands red from within with his own blood.

Sometimes, when he did this, he could still see the blood on them, feel it drip onto his face and mix with his tears, leaving pink streaks to race down his cheeks and leave spots on the dirty bed sheet.

He was sick. He knew this with a certainty borne of paranoia and self-hatred. There was something disgustingly wrong with him, and that was why there was no one left.

It came easy to him, now. This scared him, pleased him in a way that left him shuddering, horrified, in the shower as his toes scuffed rusty stains and pink ribbons of water washed his whole body dirty. Blood.

Blood, everywhere. Always. He'd wondered how the one before him had acquired such an odd scent--tobacco, cherry blossoms, and blood--but he understood. Subaru now smelled exactly the same as Seishirou always had. On some days this comforted him, but usually it made his stomach flip and his heart hurt.

Subaru welcomed the hurt. It made him feel human. It made him forget the looks from his family as he attempted to retreat home, only to be barred. It made him forget.

Strange that remembering would make him forget. Strange that doing things that confused, angered, disgusted people made him feel human. Strange.

So here he was, now. Wallowing in self pity. Doing yet another sick, depraved act in an attempt to be human…to be…

He was beneath a tree. He supposed it was fitting, albeit morbid, ironic, bizarre. A tree. A bitter laugh escaped him and he fought to keep himself from bursting into peals of laughter. Instead, he made a choking sound, a mix between a giggle and a sob.

Subaru knelt beneath the tree, resting his fingers on its rough bark. A wave of overwhelming sorrow and nausea swept over him and he staggered, falling onto his heels, senses reeling. Weakly, he gripped the basket and reached in, pulling the thin, old blanket out.

The blanket felt good to his bare fingers. He didn't know what had compelled him to take off his gloves today, but he liked it. He liked the feel of the old blanket on his naked hands, liked being normal. No freakish, branding gloves to wear even in the summer and make his hands sweat.

He stroked the blanket for another minute, feeling its worn threads as clearly as his own ribs. Then he lay it out on the ground. Half of it lay on grass, seven years' worth of grass, but the other half covered a sunken-in pile of stones. He settled in the grassy gap between, the large patch of untouched land. He always sat there. It was his spot.

Subaru rested there for a minute, enjoying the fresh smell of turned earth and grass. He could feel tiny spikes of grass stabbing into his hands as they rested on the ground next to him. He shivered slightly, then set out the tea and cookies. Picking one up in his hands, he marveled at its strange texture. It crumbled beneath his curious, inquisitive, probing fingers and he mourned its loss, feeling almost silly. He didn't reach for another.

Frowning to himself, he spoke. His soft voice rang over the silent area. "Hokuto-chan…" the words caught in his throat. "Do you want one? I…baked them myself. I'm not a good chef, but…" the quiet, mournful almost pleading voice hung heavy in the air. There was no response.

Turning slightly, he spoke again. "Seishirou-san?" Subaru's voice cracked. "I…have tea…your favorite kind…do you want any?" Silence. Subaru sighed to himself and put the food away. He let pained lids close over his mismatched eyes and lay on the blanket.

Eyes still closed, he reached on either side of him and let his fingers brush cool stone. Subaru cracked open his good eye and traced his fingers lovingly over the names carved.

He'd take a nap now, ask again when he woke. Neither Hokuto nor Seishirou would accept anything, he already knew, but he would ask, anyway. He would keep asking because as long as he did, they could never leave him. They'd never leave him alone.


End file.
